


Thoughts of Flight

by ThePenultimateAvenger



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-29
Updated: 2012-09-29
Packaged: 2017-11-15 06:15:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,854
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/524036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePenultimateAvenger/pseuds/ThePenultimateAvenger
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Arthur is contacted by Dom a year later, saying that he has a job in London. The Point Man is surprised to find the rest of the Inception team there, as well, and soon finds his feelings for Eames morphing drastically.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Thoughts of Flight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [eamesish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/eamesish/gifts).



> Written for phnx (joetokki) on Tumblr for her birthday. Which was actually, like, 2 weeks ago, but this turned into a couple-thousand-word idea into what it is today.

Arthur didn’t think he’d have to deal with Mr. Eames again after the Inception. That was the last job in which they were all needed, and when it was over, everyone was free to go their own way. They had the opportunity to find a new job, if they felt so inclined. Cobb was considered a free man, returning to his children and seemingly forgetting his job as an Extractor. Assumedly, everyone else had resumed the life that they were living prior to the job—albeit with slightly heavier pockets. That’s the impression Arthur was under, of course. He certainly didn’t expect to be called nearly a year later by Dom, saying he needed help on another job.

The Point Man agreed, if only somewhat reluctantly, and caught a plane to London several hours later. He didn’t know what to expect, but he was prepared to work with a new team. He’d worked with numerous combinations of people over the years and was professional enough to put up with them as long as the job took them to complete. He trusted Cobb’s judgment—for the most part—and knew that whatever team he’d put together would be the right choice.

He arrived in London late the night before the meeting was intended and took a cab to his hotel, grabbing his luggage out of the trunk and heading to the front desk to collect his room key. As the elevator doors slid open, he was forced to avert his eyes away from a couple who seemed to have forgotten they were in an open area. The man, who had the woman pinned against the wall of the elevator, reminded Arthur oddly of Eames; light hair, minimally gelled, and a suit that screamed ‘egotistical’. It wasn’t the Forger, however, and the point man didn’t want to look at him for longer than was necessary. Somewhat awkwardly, he pressed the button for the fourteenth floor and stared ahead as the doors slid closed.

The thought of Mr. Eames had snuck up on Arthur, but it refused to leave his mind. Quite the opposite of leaving, actually. The Brit’s image flew through Arthur’s head, replacing the man who was standing on the opposite side of the elevator. His own image replaced the woman who was pinned against the wall, hands roaming and eyes shut in ecstasy. His mind was painting a vivid picture of bodies pressed together and breaths mingling, the sounds of the couple beside him bringing the fantasy to life. By the time they’d passed the tenth floor, he’d completely checked out of reality and instead replaced it with his own.  
It came to an abrupt end, however, when the elevator made a sharp ding as it stopped, violently ripping Arthur out of his reverie and tossing him back into reality. He was appalled at the kind of thoughts his mind had conjured up, and hurried into the hallway, his grip on his suitcase tight enough to turn his knuckles white. He was tired, he rationalized. It was late and he’d had a long flight. His hand trembled as he tried to slip the room key into the lock, partly from horror and partly from arousal. He knew he was attracted to men, but the fact that the first man who came to mind was Eames was…unexpected. And not in the good, serendipitous way either. He hadn’t been happy about working with Eames during the inception in the first place, though the man was good at his job, and having sudden sexual fantasies about him was abysmal. The man was attractive in his own certain way; perhaps if he kept his mouth shut for once it would be more obvious.

“I need to get laid.” He muttered to himself as he tossed his luggage onto the hotel’s bed and flicked on the bathroom light. He splashed some cold water onto his face in an attempt to start thinking clearly, his reflection glaring harshly back at him. It had admittedly been a while since he’d had sex with anyone—male or female—and he blamed his unusual thoughts on sexual frustration. Absent-mindedly, he rolled his dice across the counter—a habit that he’d developed over the years. They landed on the numbers that they always did, signifying the complete _realness_ of the moment.  
Arthur ran a hand through his hair and quickly changed into a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt. It was going to be a pretty early morning, and it had already gotten incredibly late. With one last glance at his reflection, he turned off the bathroom light and walked to the main area of the room, ensuring the door was locked before sliding into bed. It was late. He was tired. But despite these facts, there was still the matter of his minor arousal rushing through his mind and coiling in his abdomen.

That night, he came quietly in his own hand, his thoughts as he did so straying towards posh suits and a sexy accent. If his thoughts later returned to the night spent thinking of the Forger whom his mind refused to let go of, he would blame it on exhaustion and a temporary lapse in judgment—nothing more.

x.x.x

Arthur met up with Cobb at an abandoned warehouse, but he would be lying if he said it wasn’t a surprise to see the rest of the Inception team there as well. He was apparently the last one to arrive and grabbed a chair, pulling it over to the group circled in the middle of the room. Cobb nodded in his direction, smiling at his long-time friend, and cleared his throat. “I’m sure you weren’t planning to see me again so soon, but thank you for coming, anyway. The job I’ve been hired for is relatively simple, especially with what you’ve all accomplished, and I couldn’t think of a better team to assemble. This time, the risks are much lower, but the payment is equally as good.” He looked around at everyone’s faces, crossing his arms. “What do you think?”

“And what precisely would we be doing?” Eames asked, looking skeptical. Arthur glanced over at the Brit, watching as the man twirled a pen between his fingers, and felt something inside him stir. Things hadn’t been the same since the Fischer job, he had to admit, but the thoughts from the previous night came flooding back into his mind. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but he somehow felt less hostile towards Eames and the frigidness he’d formerly felt towards the man had morphed into something much warmer. Arthur stared at Eames for a few moments, trying to pinpoint exactly what was different about the man. The Forger was practically unchanged, though—from his impeccably gelled hair to the scruff that lined his face, from his smiling eyes to his ridiculously expensive suit. It was all the same, and for some reason, Arthur found this both comforting and completely troublesome.

“Our mark is Anthony Jones leader of a well-known trading company. I was hired by his brother for numerous reasons, but mainly because he’s, and I quote, ‘a greedy bastard’. He took both of their shares of the inheritance they received when their father died. Anthony is keeping his brother’s share in a safe in Surrey, and we need to find the code.” Cobb explained, pacing slowly across the floor as he spoke.  
“Sounds simple enough.” Arthur agreed, tearing his gaze away from Eames before he could be caught staring. “But how much do we know about Mr. Anthony Jones? If we entered his mind, how dangerous would it be for us?” The words weren’t said, but everyone in the room understood the implications of the question. Each one of them remembered what had happened in Fischer’s mind because of Dom’s mistakes, and they were mistakes that wouldn’t be so easily forgiven. He remained their friend, yes, but he would have to earn back their trust.

Cobb paused, thinking over his next words. “The danger would be… very minimal. There’s a catch, though. The brother has informed me of some bad habits Anthony has, and they will certainly work to our advantage, but things may get…weird for us.”

Arthur wasn’t quite catching on to what Dom was saying, furrowing his eyebrows as he crossed his legs. “Could you be a bit more specific here? Weird how?”

“Mr. Jones cheats on his wife. Frequently. She’s probably noticed, but if she has, she’s kept her mouth shut. With good reason, too. From what I’ve been told, Anthony visits gay clubs habitually, going home with various men on an almost weekly basis. I can only imagine what that would do to his public image if he was somehow caught. It’s something we can work with, though, but I don’t know how comfortable you all would be with the situations you may be put in.”

Arthur inhaled deeply and tried not to show any change of emotion. Agreeing to this job meant putting himself on the line and possibly being forced out of the closet that he’d buried himself in. He was gay, and had known for several years, but he was very closed about his interest in men. He knew he could be put at risk if he agreed to this job, but it would still be less risky than the inception. That fact was a source of at least some comfort to him. “I don’t see a problem with it.” He finally said, seeing as no one else was speaking. He tried to keep the note of apprehension out of his voice, but his heart was beating in his ears. “It’s just a job. What goes on within the dream is just a step in the direction of a paycheck.”

Everyone else nodded their agreement, and Cobb smiled. “Great. We’ll begin preparations immediately.”

x.x.x

 

Arthur was in charge of researching every last detail of Mr. Jones’ life, from the people he’d slept with to the restaurants he preferred. He even tried to figure out what type of people the man frequently brought home, because the Point Man had learned the hard way that research could never be too thorough. A single missed detail could be the one detail that could save their lives when they went under. It was as much his fault as it was Dom’s that the inception had become so fucked up. Dom may have had his personal ghosts to contend with, but Arthur should have done more research. They could have at least had the benefit of going in more prepared.

“Arthur, it’s late, don’t you think it would be a good idea to head back to your hotel and get some sleep?”

Arthur turned in his chair, pushing the past mistakes out of his mind, to see Ariadne standing in the doorway. She had her messenger bag draped across her shoulder, clearly about to leave. “Yeah, I just have a few more things to finish up before I go.” He said, motioning towards the papers that were scattered across the desk in front of him. He’d only been there less than a day, but already he was hard at work, his laptop open in front of him. Of course, he was normally a bit more organized, but the state of disarray displayed on the desk matched the disarray that wreaked havoc inside of his head.

“You don’t waste any time, do you?” the woman asked, taking a few steps forward and perching herself on the edge of the desk, fingers running over a few sheets of paper. “So what have you been up to since the inception?”

Arthur shrugged. He hadn’t been up to much, honestly. A few freelance jobs to bring in some extra cash—not the he needed it, but he enjoyed the travelling. “Same old stuff. But my life isn’t that interesting, what about you?”

“I went back to school for a bit, but nothing can compare to this lifestyle.” Ariadne smiled and Arthur couldn’t tell if she was happy or remorseful. “You have no idea how thrilled I was when Dom called me to offer me this job.”

“I’m glad it was you he called,” Arthur said with a smile, “Because you’re one of the greatest architects I’ve known. So did you drop out of university?”

“I managed to get through a term of late homework and relentless maze doodles before I decided that no matter what I chose to get a degree in, I would never love it as much as I love this job.”

“I can’t say I blame you.”

Ariadne smiled brightly before looking down at her hand quickly, seemingly deliberating with herself. “Hey, I was wondering if you wanted to quit early and maybe get a drink with me?” She asked, and Arthur immediately felt himself thrown through a loop. He took in the way the younger girl looked at him from under her eyelashes, smiling timidly, and his mind went into panic mode. He hadn’t meant for his friendly comments to be taken in a romantic way at all, and once he realized that that’s what had happened, he tried to backpedal in the most polite way possible.

“I, uh, should probably—”

“That would be lovely, Ariadne. Mind if I tag along?”

Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder and a voice close to his ear, the low British notes sending slight shivers up his spine and instilling in him the impulse to put distance between himself and the other man. Despite his silent protests, Arthur’s thoughts immediately went back to the couple on the elevator and he tried not to let any emotion show on his face.

Ariadne opened her mouth to say something, but no words would come. She seemed to be stuck between outright saying no and saying yes just to appease the Brit, but she was far too polite to exclude him. “Uh…sure?” She said finally, looking dejected.

“Fantastic!” Eames said, his grip on the point man’s shoulder tightening briefly before disappearing entirely.

Arthur felt his heart skip and his breath catch in his chest—the implications of which he chose to ignore. The feeling of warmth returned and he took a few deep breaths and turned to shut down his laptop before shoving it into his bag. He almost didn’t want to turn back to his two teammates, but he plastered a smile across his face and did so anyway. Ariadne was frowning, her fingers fidgeting with the strap of her messenger bag. Eames, however stood with his hands in his suit-pockets, a self-serving smirk on his lips.

“Are Yusuf and Cobb already gone?” Arthur asked in an attempt to disperse the awkward atmosphere that was quickly becoming stifling—mainly due to Ariadne’s attitude and the knowledge that she’d just lost her chance to have any sort of alone time with the Point Man. He was thankful to Eames, of course, but they were all aware of the elephant in the middle of the room.

“I don’t know about Cobb, but Yusuf left about an hour ago.” Eames said with a short glance down at his watch. “He was complaining about jet lag or something along those lines. Said he’d feel better tomorrow after he’d had a cup of coffee.”

Arthur suppressed a morose sigh, mentally putting the situation together; Ariadne had essentially just asked him on a date, which he had most likely encouraged by being his friendly self. Eames had just cockblocked the young woman. Arthur felt…something that wasn’t hate towards the forger and Eames was…well, Eames.

And to put the cherry on top, the three of them were all going out for drinks together.

It could have been the beginning of a joke, really. _A Point Man, an Architect, and a Forger walk into a bar…_  
It was a potential recipe for disaster, and he only hoped that the punch line would end peacefully. Their extraction job had only just begun, after all.

x.x.

“…and so I told him, just because he had a pretty face, it didn’t mean I liked him!”

Ariadne burst into a fit of laughter, taking another gulp of her beer while Eames and Arthur just looked at each other, not quite understanding what was so funny. The younger woman apparently couldn’t hold her alcohol very well, and was already past nonsensical. The two men, however, were taking it much slower. They were buzzed, at most, and Arthur was beginning to think that he should have just gone home. It would have saved him the headache, at the very least. He was verging on misery, which was completely missing the point of going out drinking with friends.

“So what about you, Arthur?” Eames asked, turning his full attention away from Ariadne as her fits of giggles slowly came to a halt. “Up to any shenanigans since we last spoke?"

Arthur looked across the small table Eames and tried to shrug as nonchalantly as possible. “Same old business. I’ve travelled around quite a bit for work.”

“And you’ve never come to visit me? Arthur, I’m hurt.” Eames put a hand on his hand, dramatic pout adorning his lips.

Arthur told himself that he actually didn’t hear the mild sincerity behind the sarcasm, but there was a shred of hope somewhere in the back of his mind. Which he promptly proceeded to push very far away. “I wasn’t aware I’d be welcome.”

Eames leaned over slightly, smiling. “You’re always welcome, darling.”

Arthur wasn’t sure, but he felt as though the space between them had suddenly become much smaller. Thoughts were flying through his brain—too quickly to be fully comprehended—but his breath was becoming increasingly shallower.

He was saved from some sort of unintelligent remark by Ariadne setting her empty glass loudly on the table. “Who’s up for refills? Because I am.”

“Do you really think that’s such a good idea?” Arthur asked, trying to stop Ariadne from standing by grabbing her wrist. They shouldn’t have let her get so drunk in the first place, but allowing her to get alcohol poisoning would be far worse. Hell hath no fury like an angry Dom, and having a massively hungover Ariadne was going to piss the Extractor off. It wouldn’t be so easily avoided.

“It’s a great idea!” She exclaimed, trying to tug herself free. However, he attempt to free herself became an attempt to stay upright, and quickly deteriorated into a dash for the booth before she could hit the floor. “But maybe later, I think. I need a minute.”

“I think you’ve had enough.” Arthur insisted, silently asking himself how he got himself into the mess in the first place. He could have been at the hotel, reading a book or sleeping. Anything would be better than his current predicament.

“Do you want me to call a cab?” Eames asked, his phone already out of his pocket. They’d walked to the bar, of course, because it wasn’t that far away. Walking back, however, would be much more troublesome if Ariadne couldn’t even stand upright on her own.

“I don’t want to go yet, guys! Aren’t you having fun?”

Arthur barely suppressed a sigh as he nodded towards the forger, who was already dialing the number. “There will be plenty of other opportunities, Ariadne. You’ll thank us later.”

It took them over ten minutes to coax the young woman out of the bar and into the cab which had pulled up. They let Ariadne in first, flowed closely by Arthur whose wrist was being held hostage. Ariadne’s grip was surprisingly vice-like, made even more astonishing by the fact that she was massively drunk.

Eames gave the cabbie directions, leaning back in his seat as he closed the door. Arthur’s headache was quickly becoming hellish and he felt almost claustrophobic, pressed so closely against his two teammates.  
“She seems to really fancy you, Arthur.”

At the Forger’s words, Arthur looked down at the half-unconscious woman who was nearly spilled across his lap. “Unfortunately.” He muttered, not quite sure if he was talking to Eames or himself.

“Oh, you already have a woman then?” Eames sounded scandalized, but he had a sarcastic smirk plastered across his face.

“Not quite.” Arthur said hesitantly. He didn’t want to give too much away. His personal life was his business, and he wasn’t quite sure if he wanted to share it with his co-worker or not. Of course, he didn’t want to lie, either, and saying that he was already in a relationship would be just that. “She’s just not my type.” Even to his own ears, the words didn’t sound very true, but he found it hard to think straight when Mr. Eames was in such close proximity—with the added bonus of an alcohol buzz.

Yes, he mused silently to himself, going out for drinks was a very bad idea. They should have at least waited until the rest of the team could join them—make it less awkward for everyone involved.

“Are you and Ariadne staying at the same hotel?” Eames asked, briefly glancing out the window at the lighted shop fronts that were whizzing by. It was past midnight by that point, and they were going to face hell in the morning. Arthur could only imagine the look on Dom’s face as they walked into the warehouse, tired and hungover. He’d probably go on to yell at them about responsibility in the workplace and corruption of youth, even though Ariadne was plenty old enough to take care of herself.

Well, on the bright side, at least their job involved sleeping.

“I’m not sure actually. I don’t think she told me where she was staying.”

“I think she told me she was staying at the one down the street from the library.”

“I’m staying at the one by the coffee shop.”

“That’s the same one isn’t it?”

“I don’t think there’s a library by the hotel I’m staying at.”

“Are you sure?”

Arthur bit his lip to prevent any obscene language from tumbling out of his mouth, glaring harshly at Eames. “You live here, Eames. You should know better than I do.”

With a slight pout, Eames fished his phone out of his pocket and opened up an app, taking a few moments before locking the screen. “Right. Different hotels. Ariadne’s is the closest.”

“Great, so we’ll drop her off and then we can stop at mine.”

“I’m going to need help getting her up to her room, Arthur. Don’t even think of leaving me to do it on my own. We can drop her off, and then you and I can walk to my apartment because it’s closer and it’s already late."

In all honesty, Arthur wasn’t thrilled by the idea of spending the night with Eames, no matter how logical the choice was. He wasn’t in the best mood, and he just wanted to go back to his own hotel so he could pop a few aspirin and sleep until he had to go to work in the morning. The entire night had been a roller coaster of mixed emotions and frustration, and he didn’t need to project any of that onto his co-workers.  
Besides, with his uncertainty towards the Forger, he didn’t want to put himself in a position in which he’d do something he’d end up regretting. They had a job to do—romance didn’t fit anywhere into the equation.  
The rest of the cab ride went past quickly, but the hard part was getting Ariadne out of the car when they pulled up to the curb in front of the hotel. Eames pulled his wallet out to pay the driver while Arthur slid out from under the woman who was half-laying on his lap, carefully balancing his bag on his shoulder as he tried to free his wrist from her grip. “Come on Ariadne, you have to get up.”

“But I’m comfy.” The girl complained, weakly attempting to pull Arthur back into the car with her.

Eames was just crawling out of the other side and he sent a smirk Arthur’s way, walking around to the sidewalk. “Come now, Ariadne. Maybe Arthur will stay with you if you cooperate.”

Arthur wanted to protest, shooting a look over at Eames, but Ariadne seemed to consider the Forger’s words with a smile. She pulled herself out of the car, nearly falling onto the asphalt before the Point Man could grab her and help her get her balance. Eames was completely oblivious to the glare that was being shot at the back of his head, but it was probably for the better. They had enough trouble once they got inside.  
It took them a long while of arguing to explain to the hotel manager that they weren’t riff-raff and that they weren’t there to cause trouble. The manager—a stout man by the name of Tim—finally relented and forfeited a spare room key after they proved that it was actually Ariadne. He also made sure to add that his hotel didn’t take very kindly to undesirables and that if he received even one complaint about them, they’d call the cops.

With room key in hand, they directed Ariadne to the elevator, Arthur mentally cringing at the images his mind insisted on conjuring—images of elevators and roaming hands and mingling breath. It was awkward for him, with the man contained within the mental portraits standing right beside him, and the ascent to the seventh floor was painfully slow.

It was too early in the job Arthur thought, to be fucking things up. He’d almost forgotten that, while each member of the team was talented and they were successful as a whole, that they were equal parts dysfunctional and disorganized. Taking a quiet breath, he closed his eyes and listened to the faint hum of machinery as he tried to keep his cool.

He was angry.

Not only at himself, either.

He was angry at Ariadne for getting beyond wasted and making his life even harder. He was angry at Eames for stepping in where he wasn’t needed and injecting an infinite number of questions into Arthur’s mind. He was angry at Cobb for not giving him warning as to who the team would be, knowing full well that Eames wasn’t his favorite person in the world. He was even angry at Yusuf for not being available for drinks. At least if he’d been there, it would have softened the blow.

It was irrational and stupid, but Arthur was in no mood to think like a reasonable person. He was tired, irritated, and had an ever-growing hellish headache that made everything ten times worse than it actually was.  
When the elevator finally reached their floor, Arthur couldn’t get out of there quick enough. He’d started to feel claustrophobic, and the air flowing through the hallway loosened the clenching in his chest, only if it was a small amount. Eames slid the keycard into the lock and flicked on the light, helping guide Ariadne into the door. It was a struggle to get her over to the bed without tripping, but once she hit the mattress, she was out. Arthur pulled the comforter over her shoulders, glaring at the other man. “She’d better not remember your quip in the morning.” He mumbled dangerously.

“You know, I’m regretting stepping in to help you.” Eames replied, matching Arthur’s tone.

“I didn’t ask you to help me, and I could have handled it on my own!”

“Really? Because that’s not how it looked to me. It looked like you were going to reluctantly agree with the preface that you wanted to be ‘just friends’ because you’re too nice to full out reject her.”

“You don’t know anything, Eames. What I do in my life is none of your business. You just made things worse. You should know that I’m fully capable of handling things on my own.”

Eames made an undefinable face which quickly turned into a look of indifference. “Next time I’ll stay out of it, then. Wouldn’t want to make things worse for you.” He turned to the door, calling over his shoulder, “I’m going home. Follow me, or stay here. I won’t forget that you can make your own decisions.”

Arthur watched as Eames started out the door, an awful mix of regret and satisfaction churning in his chest. With one last glance at Ariadne’s sleeping form, he followed the Forger into the hallway in silence. It was going to be a long walk.

x.x.x

 

Arthur hadn’t been wrong.

He was exhausted and he wanted nothing more than to just fall asleep, even if he had to resort to passing out on the mildly-suspicious carpet of the apartment building lobby. He followed Eames up a flight of stairs, however, until they reached a door at the second floor landing.

He didn’t know what he’d been expecting, but the sight that greeted them as he opened the door wasn’t it.

The apartment was actually nice; the floor was free of clothes and trash and it didn’t look very much like somewhere Eames would live. Arthur would have assumed that he’d have posters of half-naked women on the walls, a pool table—stuff that seemed to _fit_ him.

“It’s not much, but its home.” The Forger said as he hung his keys on a hook on the wall without a second glance at Arthur. They hadn’t started the job off very well. Already, half the extraction team was neck-deep in drama and hostility, and it was barely the first day. “I’ll get you a pillow and blanket.”

Arthur watched as Eames started down a small hallway, his heart giving a guilty tug. “Eames,” he started, unsure of exactly where to start, “look, I’m sorry. I know you were just trying to help. I shouldn’t have blown up at you.”

Eames turned, his face noticeably less cold. “I shouldn’t have put my nose where it didn’t belong. It wasn’t my place to interfere.”

“No, I appreciate it. You were only trying to help, and honestly, you were right. I wouldn’t have turned her down.”

There was an awkward sort of silence as both men tried to apologize, but Arthur finally cleared his throat. “Thanks.”

“Right, well. You’re welcome.” Eames said with his usual smirk, full of self-assuredness.

Eames put some extra bedding on the couch and Arthur was finally able strip down to his boxers and an undershirt and just lay back. Eames was different, he supposed, than the impression that first met the eye. It was said that you can learn a lot about a person by several things—their handwriting, their home, and their purse. Eames didn’t have a purse, of course, and his handwriting was nothing to go on since it was always changing, but Arthur had been welcomed into the man’s home. It was a learning opportunity that he was almost too tired to take advantage of.

He did take in a few of the smaller things, though. Eames was human, first of all. There was more to him than just the abrasive exterior. He could be hurt; offended. Despite the fact that he had enough money to live in an extravagant house, he chose instead to live in a less than humble apartment with mostly just the basics. It was refreshing and made Arthur much less reluctant to oppose the feelings that insisted on making themselves known.

But despite the slight acceptance, he was still in denial.

x.x.

  
“Okay, we have two weeks to prepare for this. Our mark is going to be spending a week at his vacation house, and that’s when he’s going to be the most vulnerable.” Cobb said to the team who was circled in the center of the room. He seemed pretty oblivious to the tension that was hanging over the group, but he could have just been ignoring it. After all, he had enough drama of his own to contend with—he didn’t need anyone else’s.

Ariadne had masked herself with a pretty good poker face, but it was clear to Arthur—and most likely Eames—that she was hungover and angry. With her arms crossed tightly over her chest, she would close her eyes every so often and breathe deeply in what was probably an attempt to fight off the headache and nausea she was experiencing. “And we’re, what, going to break in?” Eames asked, addressing Dom. “He probably has some pretty decent security systems, if he’s as rich as you say he is.”

“We aren’t breaking in.” Arthur said, the timbre of his voice more abrasive than he’d intended. Force of habit. “Right?” He asked after a few moments, turning to Cobb.

“Right.” Dom assured with a slight smile before frowning. “I was intending to ask you this later, Arthur, but you’re exactly Mr. Jones’s type. The easiest way to gain his trust would be to go to the bar he frequents. If you went home with him, we could drug him without any trouble.”

“What about the rest of us?” Eames asked before Arthur had a chance to speak. “What are we going to be doing?”

“The rest of us are going to be infiltrating the house staff.”

“Do you really think leaving Arthur on his own in a gay club is really the best idea? I think that entire idea is rubbish, if I’m being honest. It’s a variable that we can’t be sure of, and Arthur wouldn’t have any backup.”

“It’s the least risky way to get the mark where we want him. Arthur would have the best opportunity to get close to Mr. Jones.”

“Can we not talk about me like I’m not here?” Arthur asked before anyone else could speak. While the idea didn’t really thrill him, the gay club scene wasn’t exactly foreign to him. He’d been a curious teenager at one time—he wasn’t a naïve kid. “I think I should have a little say in what I’m doing.”

“I—no, you’re right.” Dom admitted with a slight frown.

“Dom’s right.” Arthur said, putting a finger up in Eames’s direction before the man could protest. “Getting stuff set up would be the easiest if I can get close to him, and this is the best way to accomplish that. I just have to find him and start chatting him up.” And, he added mentally, it would be a hell of a lot easier than an anti-gravity hallway fight.

“Arthur, you can’t be bloody serious.” Eames said as though it should have been obvious that the entire scenario was batshit crazy. “There’s too much that can go wrong if we let you do this.”

“I’m not helpless, Eames, I know what I’m doing.”

Arthur and Eames stared at each other for a few long moments, both refusing to back down. The seconds were ticking by until Dom finally cleared his throat. “If it means that much to you, Eames, why don’t you go with him? You can keep an eye on him, and then follow their car once they leave.” Eames looked like he didn’t want to agree, but finally nodded his head once without a word. Cobb looked down at his watch and let out a short sigh. “Good. Let’s get to work, time is passing.”

Arthur couldn’t leave the room fast enough and he scurried to the desk he’d claimed as his own, pulling his laptop out of his bag. Eames was treating him like he was helpless. It almost seemed as though he’d forgotten that Arthur was just as capable a fighter as anyone else on the team and he didn’t need to be looked after like a child.

And in all honesty, he would be more comfortable going in alone. He didn’t need backup. Yes, bad things could happen to lone people at gay clubs—or bars and clubs of any kind, really—but they happened to the people who didn’t know better.

Arthur knew better.

He heard Ariadne’s footsteps before he saw her. Part of him—a hopelessly hopeful part—hoped that she would just continue walking, away from his office and away from the confrontation that she was sure to begin. Of course, he knew it had to happen at some point in the day. She was offended and hungover, and most likely looking for someone’s head to bite off. That someone, clearly, was going to be him.

“Arthur, can I talk to you?” The words were sweet but dripping in a bitter acid that made the Point Man hesitant to look up from his screen.

“Sure thing, Ariadne. What do you need?” He lifted his head to the door and was immediately me with the Architect’s look of anger and hurt. Dropping the oblivious act, he let out a sigh. “I’m sorry.” He said, voice completely serious.

“Look, I really don’t even care that you don’t return my feelings, but I do care that you let me humiliate myself last night. You could have just told me that you were gay and I would have been fine with it.”

Arthur felt a sensation of shock wash over him, almost as though he was falling, and it was almost like experiencing a kick. His instincts told him to run—protect his secret at whatever cost—but he told himself to calm down. It was reality and the experience was much more horrifying than that of a kick. He wouldn’t wake up from this. He felt himself freeze, eyes moving quickly to look behind Ariadne, ensuring that no one else could have heard what she had said. “What?”

“I’m not stupid, Arthur. I mean, I had my doubts that you were 100% straight from the beginning, but you and Eames kind of solidified it.”

“What do you mean ‘me and Eames’?” Arthur questioned. His voice was strained, trying to keep from being too loud, but having a hard time through his panic.

“You’re like, together, right?”

“I honestly don’t know what could have given you that impression Ariadne. Eames is as straight as an arrow.”

Ariadne took a step farther into the room, closing the door and leaning against it. “I wouldn’t be so sure, Arthur. You two both seemed pretty entranced by each other last night.”

“We weren’t. Believe me. Even if Eames was, by some weird stroke of fate, gay, there’s a snowball’s chance in hell that he’d fall for me. And the feeling is mutual.”

Arthur wasn’t sure whether he was lying or not, but he didn’t want Ariadne knowing that he had any sort of positive feelings towards the Forger. The only way to make sure a secret is kept is not to share it. He couldn’t risk telling one person and having it spreading through the team. They were like a second family to him, but his actual family didn’t even know he was gay. It was information that he strictly kept on the down low.

“Oh.” Ariadne said, clearly shocked to hear that. “I guess I was too drunk to actually tell. I’m…sorry?”

“I’m the one who should be sorry. I should have been honest with you in the beginning. I’m sure that kissing you during the Inception did nothing to stave off your affections.” Releasing some of the tension in his shoulders, Arthur let his head fall forward and carded a hand through his hair. “Just…can you do me a favor and not tell anyone?”

Ariadne smiled, nodding. “Don’t worry. The only reason I let secrets slip is if they’re putting anyone else in danger. Ask Dom if you don’t believe me.”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Arthur, you’re my friend. I wouldn’t tell anyone anyway. Although, I know they’d be okay with it. After all we’ve been through together, nothing you do or say is going to change anything. You’re still going to be our Point Man.”

“I don’t doubt it, but I like keeping myself to myself.” Arthur said, eyes glancing down towards his screen. He didn’t want to have this conversation. There was work to be done, as Cobb had said, and his personal life didn’t need to constantly interfere with his productivity.

Before either of them could speak, there was a quiet knock on the door and the Architect moved to the side quickly, opening it after a nod from Arthur. Eames poked his head into the room, a confused look passing over his face as he saw Ariadne, and stepped in. “I’m sorry, am I interrupting something?”

“I was just apologizing for last night.” Arthur explained quickly, glancing quickly down at the papers in front of him.

“And I was just leaving.” Ariadne added, smiling at the two men before hurrying out into the hallway.

Arthur was left staring in front of him at his computer screen, knowing full well that Eames could have heard any bit of the previous conversation through the door. It wasn’t a reassuring thought, and he shuffled through some of his papers in order to momentarily distract himself.

“Arthur, I want you to be absolutely sure of what you’re doing.” The Forger began, stepping forward so that he could perch himself on the corner of the desk. “The team doesn’t need you to go to such great lengths. We can find another way.”

“As much as I appreciate your concern, Mr. Eames, I’m fully capable of taking care of myself.” Arthur nearly snapped.

“I’m not saying that you aren’t, because I know that you can take care of yourself. But gay clubs can be a bit…much to handle sometimes, and something could go wrong way too easily.”

“And what, you know this from experience?” Arthur was skeptical—after all, he’d probably had more experience with gay clubs than Eames had with casinos.

“I do, actually.”

The words were spoken easily, but there was a note in Eames’s voice that was unsure. Arthur opened his mouth to say something, but found himself speechless. Of all the things he would expect the other man to say, the words he’d actually spoken were not on the list. It was just a simple statement, but given the circumstances, they held so many implications. “I don’t…” he tried, eyebrows furrowed.

“But this isn’t about me.” Eames said with finality before Arthur could even complete his thought. “This is about you and the fact that Dom’s asking way too much of you.”

“Really, Eames. I appreciate the fact that you’re just looking out for my well-being, but it’s not necessary. I’m not a naïve kid. I’ve been to a lot of clubs, and regardless of what sexual orientation they’re geared towards, I know what to expect.”

Eames didn’t look so sure, but he let it drop. “Then you should know you can’t wear what you’re wearing now.”

Arthur looked down at his suit, realizing that Eames was, indeed, correct.

x.x.

 

The Point Man barely suppressed a sigh as Eames parallel parked next to the sidewalk, shifting almost unnoticeably as he tried to get comfortable in the leather pants he’d bought a week before. They were far more constricting than he was accustomed to, but he had exactly the opposite problem with the shirt. “Ready?” Eames asked, checking the gun in his shoulder holster.

“Yeah.” Arthur responded, grabbing his bag out of the backseat. He preferred not to look over at the Forger because the man’s clothes were almost exactly like his own. Only, there was more room for hidden weapons. With the clothes he, himself, was wearing, he didn’t get a gun, but that was what Eames was there for he supposed. Locking the car, the two made their way down the street to where a line was stretching around the corner.

“This is going to take us way too long. Let’s sneak in the back.” Eames muttered.

Arthur shook his head. Going in the back way would be too risky if they wanted to stay away from any and all security guards. “Let me take care of this.” Putting some sway in his walk, Arthur approached the bouncer with a flirtatious smile. “Hi. My friend and I were already here, but we had to step out to take care of something. You remember us though, right?” Subtly, he offered the man a twenty as though it was the most natural thing in the world. 

“Of course I remember the two of you!” The bouncer responded, tucking the money away in his pocket. “Go on ahead.”

With one last overly-sweet smile, Arthur practically skipped inside, not looking behind him to see if Eames was following. “Thanks, handsome.”

“That was…surprising.” The Forger said as they found a table in the corner of the room. It had a perfect view of the door so that they could see when Mr. Jones arrived, but it was secluded enough so that other club patrons wouldn’t bother them too much.

“You underestimate my abilities.” Arthur called back, having to raise his voice slightly in order to be heard over the music that was thudding through the building. He felt free, in a way; or, at least, freer than he usually did. “And that’s not all I can do.” He said on impulse, smirking.

Eames simply stared, seemingly caught off guard. “Perhaps you’re less of a stick in the mud than I’d originally thought.”

They hadn’t spoken much since the first day after they’d gone drinking, so the topic of supposed homosexuality had never had the chance to resurface. Arthur recalled Ariadne’s words, trying to imagine Eames as anything other than perfectly straight. He’d never been very good at telling who was straight and who was gay—and especially everyone in between. He let other people make the moves. He was fantastic at social cues, but with the crowd he frequented, he could never tell if someone was being themselves or preparing for whatever mark they were going after.

Eames’s head suddenly snapped towards the door where Mr. Jones was walking in, removing his sunglasses as he did so. He looked too professional for a club, but some people were into that. “I guess I don’t have doubts that you’ll be able to chat him up.” Eames mumbled, watching as Arthur slid out of the booth.

“Don’t stray too far.” Arthur said in response, trying to adjust his pants yet again. “I don’t think this will take too long, and you have to be ready to follow us.”

“Just go do your job and let me worry about myself.”

Arthur nodded and slowly made his way through the crowd to where Mr. Jones had situated himself at the bar. He wasn’t an unattractive man, but he had a very CEO look about him—rich and cocksure. His age was clearly written in both his face and his hair, but these were all qualities that some naïve kid would look for.

Pushing himself onward, Arthur claimed the barstool to the left of Mr. Jones, sitting closer than was strictly necessary. “Give me something strong.” He said to the bartender, sounding almost as though he owned the place.

“And the same for me.” Mr. Jones said moments after, turning to get a better look at the Point Man. “I’ve never seen you here before, gorgeous. Where have you been hiding yourself away?"

“I don’t usually go to the same place more than once. I like variety.” Arthur replied.

“American, I see. Have you been in London for very long?”

Arthur shrugged, absentmindedly accepting his drink from the bartender. “Only a couple weeks. I’m here on a job.”

Mr. Jones smiled, baring his teeth like a predator going after its prey. “My name is Anthony. What about you, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Arthur pretended to preen under the attention and took a sip of his drink, reminding himself that he couldn’t get legitimately drunk. “Stephen.”

“I must say, Stephen, it is a pleasure to meet you.” Anthony offered his hand, which Arthur took without hesitance, but instead of a normal handshake, he pulled the Point Man forward. “It may just be me, but I find it very hard to hold a conversation under these circumstances. Do you perhaps want to come to my place? I have plenty of alcohol there, and I’d love it if you told me about your…job.”

Arthur allowed himself to grin, sliding off the barstool. “I don’t have any objections to that.”

Anthony smiled, hand still closed tightly around Arthur’s, and led him through a back door into an alley. Despite the music that could still be heard from inside and the traffic that was a constant thrum, everything seemed drastically quieter as the door clicked shut. “I’m parked just down the street.”

Arthur let himself pretend that it wasn’t Mr. Jones’s hand that was twined with his. Despite the appeal that the older man held, he wasn’t Arthur’s type. “Wow, this car is gorgeous!” He exclaimed as they approached the Miata that was, coincidentally enough, parked just a few cars in front of the Camry Eames and Arthur had pulled up in. “You must be rich to afford something like this as a daily driver.”

“I wouldn’t say that I’m ‘rich’, but I won’t deny that I’m pretty well-off.”

Arthur slid into the passenger’s seat and sent a star struck look over to Mr. Jones, using his body language to convey his feelings. “I find confidence to be an incredibly attractive attribute in a man.” He said, not quite lying. The only way to tell a convincing lie is to stick as closely to the truth as possible.

“I find everything about you to be attractive.” Anthony quipped back, his hand leaving the gear shifter and travelling to Arthur’s knee. “I’m very selective about the kind of people I bring home with me.”

“And I’m very selective about the people I go home with. I guess we’re about even.”

The car ride to Mr. Jones’s vacation house was only slightly uncomfortable for Arthur because he knew that all of their talk wouldn’t lead anywhere and he’d never have to deal with. He found relief in that fact, and forced himself to lean into the increasingly-obvious touches instead of shrinking away from them, but he really didn’t enjoy the attention.

Finally, they pulled into the driveway of a large, two-story house and Arthur climbed out of the car quickly. He knew that Eames had probably parked somewhere on the street and wasn’t far behind, and that the team was probably already in place inside the house, so the first—and most painful—part of his job was almost over.

The living room was extravagant with a large couch sitting in front of a flat screen TV that spread across the entirety of one wall. Clearly, Mr. Jones’s inheritance was going to good use. “Can I get you a drink, Stephen?” the older man asked, pulling a bottle of Jack out from behind a bar on the far side of the room.

“I would love one.” Arthur said, sitting back on the couch and pulling the sedative out of his bag. He had no intention of drinking, but he had to ensure that Mr. Jones did.

“Here you are, beautiful.” The older man said, holding a glass out to Arthur before taking a seat next to the younger man. “So tell me, what’s a gorgeous man like you doing single?”

Arthur didn’t give into the impulse to put space between them and instead tried to bring all of the attention to himself. “I don’t know. Perhaps I’m a little…too hot to handle.”

“Well we’ll see about that.” Anthony said quietly before leaning in and capturing Arthur’s lips, eyes closed. Arthur, however, kept his eyes wide open so he could pour some of the sedative into Anthony’s drink, shoving the baggie back in his pocket once it was empty.

“What about you?” Arthur asked, breaking the kiss with some difficulty. He took a sip of his drink, one hand on the other man’s thigh. “How is someone as entrancing as you still single?”

Arthur knew the answer, of course—he wasn’t. He was unhappily married with a knack for seducing younger men.

“I’ve had many relationships. However, none of them could put up with me for long.”

“I wonder why.” Arthur watched as Mr. Jones took a sip of his Jack-Daniels, one step closer to ending the charade. Eames was supposed to be the one taking on the life of another, not him. Of course, he and Eames were very different and the scheme probably wouldn’t have worked as well if it had been the Forger in his shoes.

“You’re too kind.” Anthony said with a smile, taking yet another sip of his drink before placing his cup on the coffee table. He did the same with Arthur’s glass, pushing the younger man back until his back was flat against the couch. Closing the distance left between them, he swooped in for another kiss and Arthur tried his best to reciprocate it. The sedative didn’t seem to be kicking in very quickly, and he had no idea how he’d keep up the act if things went any further.

Hands roamed downwards, clothes were shed, and Arthur was getting dangerously close to fleeing. Just as Mr. Jones’s hands went for the button of the Point Man’s leather pants, Arthur felt him pulled away, eyes flying open. Eames had Mr. Jones by the arm, his fist making contact with the man’s jaw as soon as he was off the couch.

Apparently, the punch—on top of the sedative—was finally enough to knock the man out, because he didn’t get back up when he hit the carpet. Arthur sat up, wiping his mouth as he did so. “Looked like you were almost enjoying it.” Eames muttered, shaking his hand out.

“Don’t worry, I wasn’t.” Arthur assured, trying to find his shirt. He felt awful. Eames wasn’t supposed to see him like that; in such a state of faux-passion. Looking at the Brit, he almost seemed disappointed. “I really didn’t, Eames.”

“It’s none of my business whether you liked it or not.” Eames said with a shrug. He glanced over to the doorway where Cobb, Ariadne, and Yusuf were carrying the PASIV in; an effective end to whatever Arthur could have replied with.

“Nice work, Arthur.” Cobb said.

Arthur nodded once, pulling on his shirt and standing with the rest of the team as they prepared to go under. He wanted this job to be over. At that point, there was really no denying that he felt something for Eames, but it was doubtful that the Forger would feel the same way. He needed to finish the job and move on so he could just get on with his life. There was no point in harping on something that would never go anywhere.  
Arthur, trying to get his breathing under control and the taste of alcohol and kisses out of his mouth, went around the room and locked all the doors so none of the actual house staff would barge in. Not like they would, anyway, since they were probably all under the impression that Mr. Jones was having a night of passion, but they didn’t want to take the risk.

“Okay, this should be a simple in and out thing.” Cobb said, setting up the machine. “Are you guys ready?”

“Yeah, let’s do it.” Ariadne said, rolling up her sleeves.

x.x.x

 

When Arthur opened his eyes again after going under, he was in the lounge of an office building. The rest of the team—sans Yusuf, who was in charge of the kick—were circled around the same table. Mr. Jones was at a table a few feet away, and the projections of his subconscious were milling around the room doing menial tasks—checking the fridge, making coffee, stuff like that.

Cobb nodded over to Eames, who took on the appearance of Mr. Jones’s assistant. She was a leggy blonde with proportions that would drive and man crazy and, Arthur thought, was clearly just for show. She made her way over to Anthony, sitting beside him like a close friend would and whispered something in his ear. The team knew, of course, that Eames was really whispering something along the lines of “some emergency is going to happen soon, you need to get your stuff from your office right away”, but it looked like friends chatting like it was any normal day.

Mr. Jones nodded and headed into the hallway, with the team following a few short moments later. They stepped into the elevator opposite his and pressed the only button that would actually take them anywhere, standing in near silence as the elevator lurched upwards.

They stepped out just in time to see Mr. Jones leave his, walking up to the door that would normally be his office. However, when he opened it, it was as though he were opening the front door to the home he shared with his wife. They followed him quietly as he made his way quickly through the hallways that were laid out until they finally came to his bedroom. He immediately went over to the far wall and moved the bookcase that hid a wall safe behind it, quickly entering the combination and stepping back as the door swung open.

Mr. Jones pulled out a wad of cash first, shoving it into his pocket before grabbing log book that most likely had all his tax information. After a few more miscellaneous papers, he finally pulled out a simple silver key which perfectly matched the description given by his brother. He slipped that into his pocket, as well, and turned to run. His departure was halted, however, by the group that was standing just outside the doorway.  
“Mr. Jones, I’m going to need you to hand me that envelope.” Cobb said, hand going automatically to his gun.

“And why would I want to do that? This is no business of yours!”

“This will be easier for you if you just hand it over.” Cobb insisted. “Give it to us, and no one gets hurt.” Anthony stared Dom defiantly in the eyes, making no move to hand over the heavy envelope. “There are two way this can go,” Dom pulled his gun from the waistband of his jeans and pointed it forward. “You can give it to me, or I can shoot you in the foot. You won’t die, obviously, but it will hurt, and I don’t think you’ll be able to get very far with all that money if you can’t walk.”

Mr. Jones’s eyes flickered down to the barrel of the gun before shooting back up to Dom’s face. The defeat was obvious in his face and he relaxed his shoulders. He walked over to the desk and jotted down the combo, with Dom never pointing the gun anywhere else. “Here.” The man said, handing Cobb the piece of paper. “You can have the damn envelope.”

He shoved his way through the group and Arthur watched as Cobb memorized the combination code, eyes glued to the paper. The music had already started and Arthur nodded to the team. “The kick is going to happen soon. Hurry up and memorize the damn thing, Dom.”

“I’d like to see you do this, Arthur.” The Extractor muttered, shoving the paper into his pocket before nodding. “Ok—”

x.x.x

  
Arthur woke up on the floor, taking a breath and rolling onto his knees as the rest of the team was knocked out of their chairs as well. “We need to leave.” He said to Cobb, standing and taking the PASIV’s needle out of his arm. He grabbed his bag from the floor beside him, avoiding looking at the only one still sleeping. Mr. Jones wasn’t the kind of man he’d ever go for, and the fact that the one man he would go for had to rip Anthony off of him was…mortifying.

“You sure you have all your clothes?” Eames asked with a smirk and Arthur had to ignore the impulse to flip him off.

There were a few silent moments of hurried re-arranging of the room before they exited into the hallway. “We’ll meet you two back at the warehouse.” Dom said to Arthur and Eames, and it honestly hadn’t occurred to the Point Man that he would also have to drive back with the Brit. It made sense, of course, but there was only so much Eames he could take before he went crazy—from annoyance or sexual frustration, he didn’t know.

“See you soon.” Eames said, breaking off into a different part of the hallway than Cobb and Ariadne. Arthur followed, silently wishing that he had some other clothing than what he was wearing.

“So, that went well.” Eames said once they’d both climbed into the car, putting the keys in the ignition.

“It could have gone worse.” Arthur said, not entirely agreeing. ‘Well’ would have been getting in and out without having to put himself in the position he was forced to. ‘Well’ would be feeling much better than he currently did, even though the job was finished. ‘Well’ was not feeling embarrassed to be around the Brit because he would have rather it been Eames’s lips on his rather than Mr. Jones’s. ‘Well’ would be not forcing himself to admit his infatuation with said Brit because he finally had to accept the signs.

“You did really well, Arthur.” Eames said, hand slipping from the keys before he started the ignition. “I’m impressed.”

Arthur, at seeing Eames’s hand leave the keys, glanced up to the door where Mr. Jones could emerge any second. “Thanks. But we should get back to the warehouse before he wakes up.”

Eames seemed like he wanted to say something, his mouth opening wordlessly, before his eyes wandered down the same path Arthur’s had. The job wasn’t done until they gave Anthony Jones’s brother the safe combo, and that wasn’t going to be an easy task if Mr. Jones realized that something out of the ordinary had happened.

Twenty minutes later, they pulled up to the warehouse behind Cobb’s rental car, both breathing a bit easier now that they were essentially safe.

“Arthur,” Eames said quietly as he turned off the engine, his eyes staring at a point outside the window, “can you answer something for me? I just want an honest answer. I don’t need elaboration.”

“That depends on what the question is.” Arthur replied cautiously.

“When you were with Mr. Jones? Did you enjoy yourself at all?”

“No.”

“Is it because he was a man or because he’s not your type?”

“I thought you just wanted to ask one question.”

“You don’t have to answer the second one, if you don’t want to.”

“Why do you want to know?”

Eames shrugged, right hand slipping off the steering wheel. “Inquiring minds want to know.”

“It’s because he’s not my type.”

With that, Arthur stepped out of the car. He could feel his face burning, but he’d essentially come out of the closet to the man he was infatuated with. He had an unofficial rule that he’d keep his personal life out of his work life, but the people in his work life were worming themselves into a friendship, and boundaries were being torn down. He heard Eames get out of the car behind him, but he didn’t give the man a chance to speak before he made his way into the building.

x.x.x

  
“Our client will be here within the hour to collect this combo and pay us, and then you’re all free to leave. It was nice working with you again; you’re the best team I could ask for.” Cobb said, smiling. James and Phillipa were at home, waiting for him in America and it was clear that he was looking forward to it. It was understandable, however, since he was free to do so once again.

Arthur was pretty sure Ariadne was tearing up slightly, but he was almost sad to say goodbye again, too. Quietly, the team dispersed to their own areas and Arthur gathered up all his stuff, shredding the papers that were no longer needed.

“What are you going to do next?”

Arthur looked up from the shredder to see Eames, leaning against the doorframe with his hands in his pockets.

“I don’t know. I’ll probably go home for a while before finding another job.”

Eames took a few more steps inside the room and leaned on Arthur’s side of the desk. “Are you going to visit me this time?”

Arthur felt his heart beating in his head, trying to stay focused on the papers in front of him. “Will I still be welcome?”

“Arthur, look at me,” Arthur looked up, trying to keep calm in front of the Brit. His resolve was crumbling though; his sense of calm being slowly destroyed. Looking up at Eames’s eyes was the straw that broke the camel’s back.

“I can’t.” he whispered. He was on the edge—the edge of falling even more in love and the edge of doing something stupid.

“Arthur, are you alright?” Eames asked. His voice was full of concern, but it didn’t help. If anything, it just made the Point Man feel worse.

“You know what, Eames? I’m not even sure anymore.” He took a breath, trying to figure out whether or not he was ready to spill his guts. “I’ve spent the past month agonizing over you, and I just don’t know if I can handle it anymore. Seeing you outside of work might just be too much for me to handle.”

“I don’t under—”

“God damn it, Eames.” Arthur closed his eyes, taking a deep breath before continuing. “I told you that Mr. Jones isn’t my type. Because he isn’t. My type is British and sarcastic, with maddening lips and eyes; a great Forger and a surprisingly good friend. Mr. Jones isn’t my type because you _are_.”

Arthur didn’t quite know what he was expecting to happen after that. An explosion of some sort, perhaps anger. Instead, he felt Eames lean forward, placing his knee on the office chair so that he could keep his balance. Instead of saying anything, he pulled Arthur’s lips up to meet his.

“Wha—” Arthur tried to get out but was cut off by Eames’s mouth again.

“Shut up and let me have this.” The Brit grumbled, hand moving to cup Arthur’s neck.

Arthur tried to wrap his brain around what was happening—a situation so far out of his realm of reality—and unsuccessfully tried to figure out where to put his hands. He found himself lost in the feeling of lips upon his, soft and demanding, and a body hovering just above his. He briefly entertained the idea that, maybe, Eames felt exactly the same way he did, but life wasn’t that simple. His hand itched to grab his totem out of his pocket to ensure that it was, indeed, real life, but the thought of taking his hands away from the Brit’s hips made him reconsider.

“ _Eames_ ,” He breathed out finally, tearing his lips away, “I don’t understand.

“What is there to not understand, darling?” Eames replied quietly.

“I know you. At least, I thought I did. If you’re just trying to jump into something short and sweet, only to move on in a week, I need to know. Because I need to know if I can let myself become emotionally invested in you.” Arthur, technically, was already far too emotionally invested for his own good, but he could still walk away. Or, that’s what he told himself.

Eames pushed himself off the chair, leaning against the desk with his palms against the wood. “Arthur, it’s been a long time since I was that kind of person. That was me when I was working with you, Cobb, and Mal. I’ve changed, and I think it’s safe to say you have, too. You’re right—I use to flit from one woman to another, bugger the consequences. But the more I was around you, the more that changed. I made myself become the kind of man that you wouldn’t be ashamed to know.”

“Why?”

Eames smiled as though it should have been obvious. “Because I’m in love with you, love. I didn’t want to force my feelings onto you, but it was enough for me to be your friend. I was happy with that.”

Arthur let out a breath. He wanted to let himself fall finally, but there was a part of him that remained horrified that Eames wouldn’t be there to catch him; he was still grasping desperately to the edges of safety. Words were nice, but they could so easily be lies. Pulling his totem out of his pocket, he rolled it onto the table where it came up with the number he was silently hoping for. It was real. He wasn’t in a dream. Words could be lies, but his totem always told the truth.

Arthur shoved his totem back in his pocket and looked up at Eames with a new glint in his eyes. Slowly, he snaked his arms around the Forger’s neck, pulling him forward until their lips met. He’d waited long enough, and damn it, he was going to take it now that it was finally within his reach. He felt Eames’s hands travelling from his shoulders, tracing a path downwards over his chest until they came to rest at his hips, his fingers finding their way under the loose shirt. Lips found lips, teeth found teeth, and tongues found tongues—quickly changing from something simple to something much more than that.

“Hey guys, the client just pu- _whoooookaay_ I’m sorry. Jesus.”

Arthur broke away, breathless, to see Ariadne standing in the doorway, trying to look anywhere but the two men in the center of the room. He pushed Eames off of him, standing and brushing himself as best he could. “I, uh—we were just talking.” He said uselessly.

“Right.” Ariadne muttered. She cleared her throat slightly, staring at the floor awkwardly. “Well, the client is going to be up here in a few minutes, so you may want to, uh… _talk_ elsewhere.”

With that, she turned and left the room with a small smile, leaving Arthur to stare after, mortified.

“She took that well.” Eames said, surprisingly cheerful.

Arthur let out a breathy laugh, running a hand through his hair. “I think she suspected us from the beginning. She sure as hell suspected me.”

The Forger bit his lip, wrapping his arms around Arthur from behind. “So what do you say we head back to my place tonight, love, and do some more _talking_?”

“I say that we have a lot to talk about.” Arthur turned his head, smirking with an eyebrow cocked. “And maybe we could stop by my hotel first to get my things. I have some interesting ideas involving an elevator.”  


**Author's Note:**

> I hope you liked it :) I tried to keep everyone as in-character as I could, but I kind of rushed myself so I could get it finished. Arthur/Eames is one of my OTPs, and I've been wanting to write for it forever. I was really happy to have this excuse ;A;


End file.
